


Trials of Bonding

by megazorzz



Series: Modern Omega [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha Clint Barton, Alpha lending services, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, And shoess, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Bonding dynamics, Bonding gland, Concerns about infidelity, Dark fic, I honestly don't know where it came from, In terms of A/B/O, Infidelity, Knotting, M/M, Masturbation, Medical Conditions, Neither on Clint or Phil's part, Omega Phil Coulson, Only a little bit dark, Oral Sex, Other: See Story Notes, Prejudiced language against omegas, Random clothes porn, Rape in terms of Alpha/Omega bonding dynamics, Sad angsty masturbation, Sexist Language, Sexual Dysfunction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-16 05:42:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3476603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megazorzz/pseuds/megazorzz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil and Clint have finally begun to form bond after years of mutual pining. Clint is finally off of his suppressants and Phil couldn't be happier.</p><p>However, duty calls. Clint is shipped off to Alaska for over two months, putting a damper on their plans. </p><p>But they can handle it, right? </p><p>Featuring: A different take on bonding dynamics, Natasha playing dress-up and a HR manager who is probably going to get fired.</p><p>This is a sequel to "A Second Opportunity." It's loosely tied to that fic, but not so much as to hinder the enjoyment of a new reader.</p><p>If you're concerned about the tags, please see the end notes for a more detailed description of the non-con content.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trials of Bonding

           

            His baser instincts told him to fight it—to bark and claw and bite. However, that was no longer the society they lived in, and, in the confines of SHIELD’s base of operations, Phil had to accept his duty and the entailing sacrifices. Still, Fury stayed him with a cementing gaze.

            “Believe me Phil, it isn’t any easier on my end,” Fury said. His hands were gently rapping his expansive, steel desk. “Barton is cleared to act on the field as an Alpha, but we cannot have partners in the field who have not finished bonding yet. You know the regulations.”

            “I know,” Phil said from his seat. The file was wide open on his desk in his office.

            “This cartel is known for playing dirty. They will use any and every advantage they can get. Having a bonding couple to manipulate would mean handing them another weapon to use against us. We cannot afford to let this operation fail.”

            Phil’s palms began to sweat at the thought. “I understand, Fury. It’s for the greater good. We both knew what we were signing up for, Barton and I.”

            Fury chuckled bitterly. “You can cut out that martyr business, Phil. It’s okay. You can be straight with me.”

            Phil’s shoulders sagged. “All right. It’s going to suck, Fury. A lot. Are you happy?”

            “No.” Fury stood and approached the window, looking at the expansive mud of springtime, cracking his knuckles. “You know, I wouldn’t have asked this of you if it weren’t absolutely necessary. It’s a shame what happened to Kristen. Hard to be a sharp shooter with two broken arms.”

            Phil was quiet. Something began to squirm inside, but he had no choice but to let it boil.

 

\+ + + 

 

            Clint pulled the covers nearer to their chins. He drew Phil closer, wrapping an arm and leg about him, laying quiet claim. He buried his head in Phil’s shoulder, near his bonding gland, breathing deep.

            Phil was still dizzy from the rush, but already he felt his sated hormones begin to simmer down. He liked these moments the best, when they were fuzzy around the edges but still lucid enough to take it all in and dedicate it to memory.

            The rain fell in soft cascades outside of Phil’s bedroom windows. Less and less was the space only Phil’s; Clint’s backpack and duffel bag—ever in disarray—were near-permanent fixtures in the bedroom’s corner; his clothes had begun making their way into Phil’s dresser and closet.

            Near the front door, Clint’s scuffed boots and leather jacket lay in a crumpled heap. Due to Clint’s increasingly voracious appetite Phil’s fridge was at last stocked like a grown man’s. There was always cleaning or errands to run and Phil savored every second of it. At last, the apartment appeared to have some life in it.

            After some quiet had passed, Phil shifted and faced Clint, who was succumbing to loving weariness.

            “I’m going to miss this,” Phil whispered.

            “Miss what?” Clint murmured, though he knew the answer.

            “This. You and me here,” Phil said. “Nice and warm in bed. Sated.”      

            “Alaska’s gonna be so friggin’ cold,” Clint groaned. Phil sighed. Clint clung tighter, nuzzling at Phil’s jawline.

            “Sorry.”

            “Nah, don’t be. If it makes you feel any better, I think the op’s gonna be a piece of cake. Just nine weeks…damn.”

            Phil’s slight smile faded. “It’s going to be a long wait, but we can deal with it. We know how it goes.”

            Phil felt Clint’s knee slide up his lower torso and a familiar prodding at his side. The palm of his hand mindlessly traced small, placating circles on Phil’s chest.

            “Yeah, I get that,” Clint said, his voice clearing up. He squeezed. “’S gonna be hard, though. Sorta gotten used to this—bein’ here.”

            Phil rolled over and faced Clint.

            “You have all of your supplies ready at HQ?” Clint nodded. “Spare parts for your bow?” Clint nodded once more. “Your suppressants in case things get dicey?”

            Clint whined. “Stop, Phil.”

            “All right,” Phil nuzzling into Clint’s collarbone. “Just being anal, I guess.”

            Clint chuckled again, louder this time. He pulled Phil closer.

“Well, if you’re feeling anal…”

            Phil punched him on the shoulder. Clint nipped at Phil’s jaw, again running a tongue over Phil’s bonding gland, sending a rush of shivers through his synapses. Phil’s hand began circling the head of Clint’s cock, his thumb playing with the very tip. Clint bit his lip, but did not break eye contact.

            A familiar dewiness had already begun to gather at Phil’s rear. Clint threw back the covers, taking in Phil’s body: the dusting of chest hair, the lean body maintained through year’s of service and the deep flush that rose in his skin.

            Phil swung his leg over Clint’s stomach and straddled him. Clint’s hands slowly wandered up Phil’s sides, up his torso and to his neck, lightly scratching the slowly swelling gland near his collarbone.

            Phil closed his eyes and groaned softly as Clint applied more pressure with his nail. A soft prickling began creeping up Phil’s spine, blurring his thoughts and worries into feelings soft and distant.

            Clint raised his hips, letting his cock settle between Phil’s cheeks, letting it shine in his slick. Phil gasped as the head rolled over his hole. Clint’s hand shot up and began teasing Phil’s left nipple. Clint took his cock in hand and ran it over Phil’s hole twice more, each stroke punctuated by a sharp intake of breath from Phil.

            Phil doubled over, pressing his hand against the headboard. He was glistening with sweat and rushing currents of need were clouding his mind like a thunderhead. The soft crackle surged into heedless want seemingly in an instant. He dove down and caught Clint’s lip between his teeth as Clint re-arranged himself. He could feel Clint smile between his lips. Clint’s rough hands ran up and down his thighs, his eyes deep and wondering.

            “Are we going to do this or what?” Phil groaned as Clint re-arranged himself, leaning up to gnaw at Phil’s collarbone.

            “Just a sec.” Clint gripped his cock and, with sweet determination, guided it towards Phil’s hole, finally breaching its border.

            Phil then murmured slurred thanks as Clint slid up into him all the way down to the hilt. Phil felt wonderfully full and for a brief moment, the beast in him as sated briefly as he adjusted to the girth.

            A quiet contented moment passed before Phil began bouncing softly on top of Clint, adoring the slide of Clint’s cock as it moved in and out. His normally light eyes were darkened and hazy. Phil pressed his nose into Clint’s skin as his Alpha’s cock filled him like a tide. He took in his Alpha’s scent and his own and their wonderful mingling.

            Phil’s breath hitched as Clint rubbed over his sensitive spot, sending goose bumps rushing up his spine. Both of Clint’s hands moved to Phil’s shoulders and what began as soft kneading escalated to a vice-grip. Phil gasped as the pleasure melded with the pain of his Alpha’s grip. He smiled as he gasped and raised himself up again, taking firm control of the thrusts.

            Phil liked being on top of Clint, being able to gaze down into Clint’s eyes and to throw his head back as the mounting sensations built up in his lower regions. He stabilized himself, almost squatting as Clint took the reins once again, moving in and out in impassioned thrusts, hips bucking up and down, sweat gathering in the crevices between his muscles.

            Phil knew he was getting close—a familiar burning erupting in his stomach. He met Clint’s eye as he bobbed up and down. Clint’s arms were behind his head and his mouth in a blissed-out grin, all teeth. Phil quickened his pace at the beckoning of his primal urges. He was happy to oblige them.

            Clint growled low and his hands snapped up, stilling Phil. With a few quick rotations of his hips, Phil was seeing stars. Phil gasped as he unloaded onto Clint’s stomach. Clint followed shortly after with a low cry. Phil felt the slow swell of his Alpha’s knot filling him up.

            Phil shoved the two of them down onto the mattress, taking in his Alpha’s scent, gathering it, hoarding the impressions and subtleties. Clint stroked his hair before leaning in. Clint’s mouth traveled down Phil’s jaw and his neck, leaving a trail of kisses and nibbles. Then he reached it, the softly swelling gland at Phil’s neckline. Clint opened his mouth and grazed the surface with his teeth once more, sending sparks through Phil’s nerves.

            “Do it,” Phil gasped out.

He made no coy movements. Instead, his goal was clear and primal. Clint took the gland in his jaws and bit down. Phil moaned as sweet pangs crackled through his nerves. He suddenly felt overwhelmed, owned, trusted.

Clint bit down on it again. Every bite was just as sweet. A warm, liquid sensation ran through his muscles. He never thought he would get this far with an Alpha— _a bond._

            Before Clint, Phil had known—had grimly accepted—that he would wander alone through life; so he had poured himself into his work, leading operations, giving orders, making the tough calls. He weathered each storm alone.

            A sharp pang of guilt shot through Phil’s nerves. He wanted nothing more than Clint to stay here in his cramped apartment, tracking in mud, dumping his leather jacket and boots unceremoniously near the door and washing the dishes as penance. Something lit up in him since Clint’s birthday.

            Now that Phil had his own stake in it, an Alpha to call his own and one that would have him, he clung tight, dreading the sunrise, when Clint would depart for nine long weeks. Phil breathed in deeply through his nostrils and stifled a hitch in his throat.

            He felt Clint shift beneath him. “Somethin’ wrong?”

            Phil was cool, even steely at times. It came with the territory at SHIELD. He calmed himself, drawing on that austere demeanor now.

            “Nothing. Just being selfish,” Phil said as a quiet aside. Clint didn’t ask. Instead, rolled Phil onto his side, rocking his omega slowly to sleep.

 

\+ + + 

 

            They woke at 3:30. Phil threw together a pancake batter, frying up a tall stack of medallions for Clint. His appetite had grown voracious over the past two months, his system having completely rid itself of the suppressants. Clint dug in, inhaling the pancakes as quickly as Phil could dish them up.

            After Clint’s stomach relented, Phil joined him at the table. The color was strong in Clint’s cheeks and, if it were possible, his arms had become leaner and more defined. Phil was unsure whether it was the rosy-lenses of their developing bond, or if the suppressants had done more to Clint’s system than he had previously thought.

            Phil cut into his pancake, which was sloppy at the edges, but fluffy and light. Soon the suppressants would be back in his system, clouding his eyes, covering his scent, depositing him into the backdrop—quiet and beneath notice. He could barely stand the thought; if anyone deserved attention and affection, it was Clint.

            At five a.m., Clint pulled on his worn boots and zipped up his leather jacket. Phil stood near the door, eyes hardening and accepting. It was too late to pull out now, they both knew; matters in Alaska were too dire to ignore. Phil frowned as the zipper reached his apex.

            Phil tucked himself into Clint’s strong arms. While Clint was only a few inches taller, he felt small and anchored, a sensation he thought he would never experience for himself.

            “Be cool, be cautious,” Phil said, taking the lapels of his jacket in both hands, knuckles turning white, “be safe.”

            Clint’s face was skewed into a wistful smile. “Always.” He pulled Phil into a kiss, one near impossible to part with.

 

\+ + + 

 

            Phil had his mandated appointment with Dr. Harvey, SHIELD’s resident omega physician, one week later. The doctor looked over Phil’s chart. Phil sat on the uncomfortable bed, waiting patiently for her response. The paper wrinkled beneath the weight of his worries.

            His morning had been uneventful for the most part. The smell of Clint still lingered on his clothing and between his sheets. His mind knew he had gone, but his body was still in the dark. It was only a matter of time.

            “You’re still on Fenintal for your irregular heats. Are you currently taking one or two doses daily?” Dr. Harvey asked, her eyes still glued to the sheet.

            “I was taking two,” Phil started blandly, “but after Barton came into the picture, my personal physician suggested that I cut down to one.”

            “And your heats?”

            Phil collected his memory for the last couple months. With Clint there, it seemed to pass by in a blissful blur.

            “Usually, I have two or three truncated heats during my cycle, in addition to the longer, normal ones. The short ones are easily dismissed, so to speak,” he said with a soft grin. “They haven’t plagued me like they used to.”

            “Sounds like your cycle is stabilizing,” Dr. Harvey said. She looked to the calendar, gathering her thoughts. “But, for the time being, you will need to start taking two capsules again starting tomorrow. You and Clint were in the middle of bonding, and without fresh intake of your partner’s pheromones, you may start experiencing disruptions in your cycle again.”

            She grabbed her prescription pad, giving him instructions on how to begin upping the doses again. She then clipped a small, laminated card onto the prescription sheet.

            Phil sighed as his eyes ran over the phone number. “Tranquil Nights” was printed in a bland sans-serif font along the top edge.

            “In accordance with SHIELD policy and Federal Law regarding State and Government employees, I’m obligated to inform you about formal services that can,” she paused, “ _alleviate_ the symptoms of your heats.”

            He scoffed as he tucked the prescription into his pocket. He stood from the bed and handed her the card. “I don’t think I will be needing this.”

            She crossed her arms. “Keep it, Coulson. You know the policy.”

            “I’ve gone a fair number of years without an Alpha before Barton, I think I can handle two more months.”

            “That was before you began bonding, Coulson. Your body thinks it has access to a regular partner now. It will not be pleased to find him absent.” She took the card from his hand and tucked it into his breast pocket. “There’s no shame in getting a little help if you need it.”

            Phil said nothing, instead accepting the card as a show of diplomacy. He had always liked Dr. Harvey, had commiserated with her about the web of policies and laws that always treated their biology as a constant thorn in society’s side. He knew it was her duty to follow protocol and he knew she had his best interests at heart. He felt for the card in his pocket. Alleviate indeed.

            He said his thanks and took his leave. Headquarters was as busy as always, but something seemed off about that day. It must have been his hormones coming to the slow, dreadful realization about his partner, the resulting schism casting a pall over his daily routine.

            His coffee was bland and watery. Throughout the morning and early afternoon he was either too warm or too cold, switching often between carrying his jacket over his arm and huddling near his office’s heating unit between mountains of paperwork.

            The numbers on his forms and reports seemed to blur together into a stultifying wall. He would look at the chrome clock at the corner of his desk; time seemed to contradict itself, passing slowly, but still somehow leaving him and his work behind. He would have to stay late if he continued at this rate.

            He slid his shirtsleeve up to check his watch, but somehow he had forgotten it that day. Phil knew exactly where it was, on the nightstand next to Clint’s tablet. More often than not, Clint was there in the mornings to hand him his watch as they prepared themselves for the daily strain of SHIELD’s machinations. Phil felt naked without it.

            “Having fun?” a sly voice said from his doorway.

            “Like a kid in a candy shop,” Phil said, depositing another form in his outgoing box.

            Natasha was leaning in the doorway. The stripes of the early evening sun crisscrossed through the blinds and onto her training uniform. She took Clint’s usual spot on the nearby couch.

            “Any word from Barton?” she asked as casually as she could muster. Phil shook his head.

            “The operation is on a strict one-way communications policy. No word comes to us unless a grade 2 or higher emergency occurs,” Phil reported blandly.

            Still, he checked his phone in spite of the ban.

            “Harsh,” Natasha commented. “It’s like SHIELD is _trying_ to cock block you.”

            Phil threw her a penetrating glare, setting down his pen and lacing his fingers together.

            “Too soon?”

            Phil pinched his brow. “I’m sorry, Natasha. I’ve just been really off today.”

            The world began to blur around the edges, if ever so slightly. He dug in his desk for his bottle of water and took a large gulp. Natasha had moved from Clint’s spot to the front of his desk.

            “If it makes you feel any better, I just made reservations for us,” she said. “That swanky joint in Midtown is opening next week.”

            His vision re-aligned itself. “The one that’s been making the rounds in the tabloids and city papers?”

            Natasha nodded with a slight, placating smile.

            “Tables should be near impossible to find by now,” Phil said.

            “Through legal means, anyway,” Natasha said with a slight shrug. Phil glared her way again.

            “Relax, I’m only going to be Ms. Rutherford for the night. Promise.”

            He knew he should stay and finish his work, but lingering in his office made his heart jump and yearn. He could still so clearly imagine Clint on the couch, sweaty and exhausted. While he acknowledged the role of his hormones in the change of his perceptions, he also knew he had to get out and take brief respite.

            “What time?” Phil asked, sliding over his calendar.

 

\+ + + 

 

            Clint dug his hand in his right pocket, feeling for the small slip of silk and letting it brush against his rough-hewn fingers. Carefully he drew it out, Phil’s checked pocket square.

            He held it to his nose and inhaled deeply. For a sweet moment, it seemed as if Phil were right beside him. The chill of the Alaskan dark retreated into the distance and his Alpha senses were elated and calmed. However, as quickly as the high graced his senses, it vanished, leaving him with the mission briefing playing dully through his memory.

            The first phase of their operation was to begin shortly. Their omega spy, loaded on suppressants, would infiltrate the cartel’s facility and gather intel while they kept watch and intercepted shipments coming in.

            He turned in his bottom bunk toward a small calendar, silk pocket square still in hand, uncapping his marker and drawing a thick, purple line through that day, silently dreading the number of squares remaining. The top bunk rocked.

            Jones, a scrappy Alpha with shoulder-length braids, peered at him from over the side of her bunk. She was a recent recruit, but had proven herself valuable on three previous operations as a spotter and survivalist, even though she was on the younger side.

            “That’s gotta suck man,” she said. The bunk rocked and she vaulted down. “Who’s the omega?”

            Clint eyed her cautiously, but found only innocent curiosity. “Coulson. You might’ve heard of him.”

            Her eyes widened. “You’re kidding.”

            Clint shook his head.

            She shivered and rolled back onto her bunk. “That guy scares the crap out of me.”

            He swung his legs over the side of the cot. “Why’s that?”

            “I’ll admit, I never got the chance to talk to him, but there’s something about those mild-mannered omegas,” she started, reaching up and pulling the covers from her bunk. “They’re the ones that’ll fight you tooth and nail.”

            Clint chuckled quietly. “Sounds like Phil, alright.”

            “Are you two bonded yet?”

            “Duty called,” Clint said. “We had to put it on hold.”

“We’re going to be here awhile, you know.” Jones said. “That’s not very conducive to bonding.”

            Clint rubbed his eyes. “Ugh. Don’t remind me, Jones.” The silk pocket square wrinkled in his grip.

            Jones froze and backpedaled. “That’s what they said in health class, anyway. Don’t know if it’s true—I lived in a real backwater kind of place, so we prolly didn’t have the latest textbooks. Hell, some of our science books still had cavemen and dinosaurs in the same picture illustrations.”

            Clint fell back on his bed and sighed. He wouldn’t be able to sleep with this hanging over him. He knew Phil was tough as nails, but he didn’t like the ban on communications. He wanted to hear Phil’s voice.

            “Sorry, Barton. I didn’t mean to worry you,” Jones pleaded.

            “No it’s okay…Coulson’s tough as nails. Besides, they wouldn’t have separated us without giving Phil something to help him, right?”

 

\+ + + 

 

            Their server took their menus, saying that she would be back with their drinks shortly.

            The restaurant was flashier than Phil had expected; crystal chandeliers—more like geodes, than glass—hung high over their heads, casting a strange violet-tinged hue, washing the trendy foodies and confused suits in a hazy glow.

            Natasha was feeling playful, capping her head with a black, netted veil over a simple sea-foam sheath dress. Phil had cast away his tie, preferring a violet striped pocket-square to accent his crisp, dove-grey suit. They complemented each other well, but Phil would have preferred the checked silk square, which he was unable to locate in his walk-in closet.

Phil caught the wandering eye of many Alphas. His hands instinctively went to tighten his tie, but he found only exposed skin. He regretted his decision, feeling naked and vulnerable, but Natasha reassured him, saying it was a welcome change.

            Their server returned with their drinks and at last Phil felt settled in.

            “I give this place a year. Tops,” Natasha offered casually.

            “Why is that, Ms. Rutherford?”

            She shrugged. “Décor’s a bit much. It’s a change of pace, but I can’t imagine dining here on the regular. The mood is too specific. Inflexible,” she said, stirring her drink and adopting the stuffy airs of a picky Alpha.

            “It is a bit hard on the eyes. All the food must look black under this lighting. I wonder if they thought of that,” Phil chuckled.

            “Looks like it’s catching on with the ‘photographers,’” she nodded her head and Phil followed. A small group of pampered trust-funders were busy taking photos with their massive smartphones. Indeed, their appetizers were washed out and strangely dark under the lights.

            “They could play it up as a gimmick,” Phil said.

            Natasha shook her head. “Gimmicks are a death-sentence in the food industry.”

            Phil cocked an eyebrow. “Since when were you an expert?”

            “I speak nine languages, Phil,” she asserted simply.

            “Ah, how could I forget?”

            “More specifically, Istanbul two years ago. Don’t you remember that op?”

            Phil remembered in meticulous detail. It was a novel black market scheme, if nothing else. It was a “slow burn” operation; Natasha went undercover, under Phil’s supervision, working as a maître-d in multiple restaurants, maintaining separate identities for each.

            Representatives of would-be clients dined at these restaurants, receiving secret messages along with their award-winning entrees and drinks. While almost barbaric in light of recent technological advancements—the Deep Web, isolated servers, and near-invisible peer-to-peer file sharing—the ring had operated under the government’s nose for years.

            “And Clint caught one of their enforcers in the hamstring when we were making our exit. Hell of a shot,” Phil said, sipping his cocktail.

            “Shame, too,” Natasha chuckled. “Omar’s kuzu tandir was to die for.”

            “And I’m sure many have perished in the pursuit, Natasha,” Phil reprimanded playfully.

 

\+ + + 

 

            Their banter throughout the evening remained light and jovial, enhanced by the excited, almost bawdy crowd. Phil eventually dropped the “Ms. Rutherford” routine.

            Though Phil was glad to be out instead of moldering in his apartment—he hadn’t touched Clint’s things—his mind still wandered to his Alpha’s touch.

            As their server took their check, Natasha delicately laced her fingers in Phil’s.

            “Two weeks down, Phil. How are you holding up?”

            His eyes drifted over their fingers wistfully.

            “I would be doing better if everyone weren’t constantly reminding me that I, the hapless omega, should be falling apart”

            “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

            Phil gave her hand a squeeze. “It’s okay. I know you didn’t.” He remembered the laminated card tucked away in his wallet.

            The server placed their check in front of them with a cordial smile then rushed off to tend to her other tables. Phil pulled out his wallet, thanking Ms. Rutherford for getting them seats. The food itself was exquisite, after all.

            He pulled out his credit card. Tranquil Nights’ laminated card stuck to the back. He peeled it off and before he could tuck it away, Natasha had snatched it from his grip.

            “Another sign of my perceived shortcomings,” Phil said.

            “I see.”

            “Dr. Harvey gave that to me during my check-in. She said that my heats would be more intense with Clint gone—barely tolerable. Then she gave me this,” Phil scoffed, “800 number to call if I needed help sorting myself out.”

            Natasha handed the card back. In spite of Phil’s obvious discomfort with the concept, he tucked it back into his wallet.

            “Will you?” she asked.

            Phil rubbed the back of his neck. He knew that it was easier to dismiss the idea when he was in his senses. However, Phil was not a naïve man and he also recognized the utility of such services. Still, the idea of mating with another Alpha while Clint was absent gave his stomach cause to squirm.

            “I’m not sure. It just…doesn’t seem fair to Clint.”

            “Clint wouldn’t want you to suffer through your heat alone, Phil,” Natasha said. “He would understand.”

            The server returned with Phil’s receipt. He signed it, giving her a generous tip. She thanked them both and took her leave.

            “It’s my call, agent.” Phil bristled around the edges. If Natasha didn’t know better, she would have mistaken him for an Alpha.

            “I know that, Phil. Just giving my input.”

            Phil sighed. “Thanks, Nat. I know you’re just trying to look out for me. You always do.”

            They stood from their table and weaved their way through the crowded floor. Once outside, Natasha gave him a tight hug and he felt small in her capable arms.

            “I had a good time. Can’t remember the last time I had a meal like that,” Phil said.

            “Just too bad we couldn’t make it out.” She looked through the expansive glass windows. Even out on the sidewalk, the dining room glowed purple. She readjusted her glasses. “If I were the manager, I’d be demanding a refund from the interior designer right about now.”

            “Well, you’ll have plenty of material for your editorial, Ms. Rutherford.”

            Natasha smiled.

 

\+ + + 

 

            Clint braced himself for another frigid gust. It sped down the open field across the tundra and up into his roost, which hung suspended from steel cables. It rocked violently from side to side. Clint was chilled to the bone.

            Beneath him rocked their meager base of operations—an abandoned oil processing plant that nature was slowly reclaiming.

            As the roost settled, Clint caught a scent and immediately tensed, ready to spring into action. The wind carried the unmistakable scent of an omega in heat. He ducked down and looked through his scope toward the distant weapons facility.

            In the moonlight, he made out a small group of figures tearing through the tundra. Something was wrong.

            He checked his watch. Jacobs, their omega spy, wasn’t due back for another twenty-four hours, when they would begin planning stage two of their op with help from his findings.

            Through the scope, he could see wild distress on Jacobs’ face. The two figures accompanying him dashed him into the snow, delivering a series of crippling blows against his torso and cranium. He brought up his radio and called it in.

            “We have a problem, over,” he said.

            “Go ahead, Barton.”

            “The cartel just forcibly evicted Jacobs. I repeat, agent Jacobs is compromised.”

            “Dammit,” the communications manager said through gritted teeth. He sent an alert through their radio network, demanding a formal extrication. Near instantaneously, a small squad, led by Jones, hiked out into the tundra, garbed in white parkas.

            An hour later, they returned. Clint was waiting in the bunker along with his team when it hit them, the ripe full scent of an omega deep in heat. Jacobs floated by them, cruelly strapped to a stretcher as he writhed.

            His whines echoed down the hall as their commander turned to address them.

            “Change of schedule folks. We begin phase two at 0600, pending data extraction from agent Adams.”

            “What did they do to him?” Clint asked. A shrill whine echoed down the hall. Sweat began to gather on his forehead.

           “According to our chemical expert, a new strain of heat-inducing reagents. Clarkson said he hasn’t seen anything like it before.”

            “Freakin’ pollen? You’re kidding,” the agent to Clint’s right said. “Our chemists said Adams’ suppressants were foolproof.”

            “Up until two hours ago they were,” Clint said under his breath. A rising ball of lust was rising in his stomach and he did his best to shove it down.

            “This is quite a serious matter. There’s no telling how much of the reagent they have in their stores or who they plan on selling it to,” their commander straightened her tie. “We need Adams’ findings in order to re-coordinate. That means we need him coherent enough to report. I’m going to need a volunteer.”

            Clint swallowed and wiped his forehead. He looked to the other members of his squad, but each of them was as hesitant as he. Clint felt himself harden in his uniform. He shut his eyes, concentrating on Phil’s face, but his memory blurred around the edges, interrupted by the increasingly strong scent.

            He felt ashamed, strains of unfamiliar guilt coursing through his veins as violently as his baser instincts.

            “Barton,” the commander said. “Looks like you’re ready to go. We need that information ASAP.”

            “I-I can’t,” Clint choked out. “I’m cementing a bond—I can’t interrupt it now.”

            She stepped up to him toe-to-toe. Her gray eyes were pitiless and determined. “There’s a lot at stake, Barton,” she barked—loud for a beta. “If we don’t complete this operation, many more will suffer.”

            He swallowed. His extremities trembled, the whining in the adjacent hall growing in intensity and pitch. He knew what Phil would say, that they knew the score, that duty came before self, that the safety of all was SHIELD’s utmost concern. In spite of his sense of duty and the enticing cries from the next room over, he couldn’t bring himself to accede.

            “I’ll do it,” a voice came from the corner. Jones brushed the snow from her shoulders and the fur rimming her parka’s hood. “I’ll be quick, sir.”

            She eyed Barton with a soft smile and waves of relief swept over him, though his cock was still turgid, encouraged by the friction of his boxer briefs.

            “Just get it over with and report back,” the commander said. Two more strategists pulled her back to consult as Jones pushed past them and into the abandoned medical wing of the facility.

            “I owe you one,” Clint said, barely able to contain his arousal

            Jones squeezed his forearm and nodded.

            The rest of the unit scrambled, returning to their bunks to prepare their equipment, readying themselves for phase two. Barton swiftly removed himself from their midst, covering his ears when relieved moans began echoing from the corridor.

            He returned to his and Jones’ bunk and locked the door behind him. In one swift movement he unleashed his cock, which had already stained the front of his boxer briefs. He grabbed onto it, letting the precome ease the desperate handling.

            He shut his eyes and lay on the bed, concentrating on Phil, trying to remember his scent, his touch, the way his eyes softened after Clint finished inside of him. He couldn’t concentrate for long.

            Jacobs’ moans of satisfaction and release still extended to his chamber, tiny and muted, but not diminished by the distance between them. His mind drifted to the nearby omega and he imagined Jacobs bouncing up and down on his cock instead of Phil.

            In a dozen or so desperate strokes, Clint was coming on his hand, each spurt punctuated by a choked gasp.

            He washed his hands in the nearby basin, staring at his reflection.

            “Dammit, Clint,” he remonstrated with himself. “You’re already bonding, man. What the hell?”

            The moans were still vibrating against the metal walls and grates, tormenting Clint. He grabbed a set of earplugs and stuffed them in his ear canals, desperate to drown out the enticing moans and whimpers.

            Despite his efforts, he was hard again. In a desperate fit, he dug through his footlocker and found the small white pill bottle. He loathed the sight of it. He unscrewed the lid, spilling two small capsules and tossing them into his mouth.

            He lay on the bunk, pillow over his face.

“I’m sorry, Phil,” he murmured.

           

 

\+ + + 

 

            Phil was stirring in his half-empty bed. Sweat was gathering in the sheets. His skin felt tight. He shuffled, scrambling in his heated dream. His covers had long been discarded, shoved off by his writhing legs.

            He could almost feel Clint’s wry smile against his mouth. He breathed in deeply, savoring his Alpha’s gentle musk. A soft whimper escaped his lips as Clint moved down, gnawing gently on his jaw, then down his neck until he reached the swelling gland.

            Teeth bared, Clint’s eyes flicked up. His pupils were wide, asking if he could bite down. Phil nodded, running his hands up and down Clint’s sides, feeling the skin beneath his fingers as if he were really there. Hooded by his thick lashes, Clint’s eyes drifted down. His mouth widened. Then Phil felt the hot, sweet pain spread across his collarbone as Clint claimed him.

            Phil shot up in bed. The clock’s red display was blurry. He blinked a few times, clearing the dream from his foggy mind. It was 4 a.m.

            He was burning up. He peeled off his damp undershirt and threw it to the corner. The back of his thighs were tender and swollen. The redness ran from the back of his kneecaps to the crevice of his ass, which continued to dew and pulse with his heartbeat.

            Phil flipped on the lamp and delicately hauled himself up. He swayed on his feet. He planted his hand against the bedroom mirror. His eyes were bloodshot, his pupils growing wider and wider.

            “Clint,” he whined.

            Save for the fading scent emanating from his duffel bag, there was no sign of him. Phil knew this, but the wishful thinking of his hormones still went by the proof of his sweet, fleeting dream. He stumbled to the bathroom, turning on the light. His eyes watered in the light and so he flicked it off.

            He started the cold water, sadly settling in to his old coping mechanisms, and stepped into its icy spray. “Clint,” he moaned. He squinted his eyes shut, facing the showerhead. Phil planted his hands on the tiles. He knew he wouldn’t be able to shake the heat this time.

            He turned around. The water pressure elicited a long, winding moan from between his lips. But he wanted more.

            Shutting the water off, Phil stepped out and wandered to the bedroom. The shaft of light illuminated his moist sheets. No point in changing them now. His heart was thudding in his throat. His mind was swimming.

            He crossed over to his closet and collapsed to his knees. His eyes lingered on the duffel bag. He grabbed a handful of Clint’s clothes, holding them to his nose and taking a deep whiff. He immediately regretted it. His breathing deepened and the heat mounted in his veins.

            Hands shaking, Phil ripped the closet door open. He tossed his Prada loafers over his shoulders and they were quickly followed by his Allen Edmonds brogues, his Alexander McQueen Chelsea boots and his suede Balmain sneakers.

            At last he found it, the shoebox in the corner. His slick was now thick and hot, gathering on the carpet behind him. He tore off the lid, gazing at his knotting dildos, which had begun to gather dust.

            He grabbed the silky red piece and hastily washed it off in the bathroom sink.

            It slid from his grip and fell onto the floor. Phil swore and washed it again, muttering in frustration.

            This heat was unlike the ones before his bond. Back then he could dismiss it himself, but as he looked at the limp knotting dildo in the sink’s basin, he knew it would not longer do the trick.

            “Goddammit,” Phil groaned, rubbing his eyes with his palms.

            He had no alternative. He grabbed it and threw himself on the bed.

            Phil pulled back his knees. Carefully as his shaking hands could muster, he lined up the head of the dildo with his hole and inserted it. A small shiver of relief ran through him as the shaft slid in and out in a harried rhythm.

            “Clint…Clint,” Phil moaned. He squinted shut his eyes, trying to imagine Clint and his musk washing over him, overtaking and commanding him with firm thrusts and rough strokes. And, for the moment, it was working.

            Phil rose to his knees and they sank into the mattress. He positioned the dildo beneath him and he slowly sat on it. It slid up deeper into him and he sighed in relief.

            He began bobbing up and down, feeling the head run over his prostate. He ignored is cock entirely, focusing instead on sating his most dire urges, treating his heat as something to be subdued

            Clint was always just right, he thought, gentle when it was called for, but rough when it was needed. He tried simulating his thrusts, bouncing up and down, readjusting the angle and lying on his back again, but to little effect. His control was slipping.

            He rammed it up his ass. Sweat poured down his brow. His small whimpers were soon replaced by thwarted groans. Without an Alpha nearby, he felt small and vulnerable, completely unlike his normal self.

            He hated it; he hated how he had to scratch and claw his way up the ladder, how, just because of his status as an omega, he was forced to continually prove himself to Alphas with half his tenacity and vigor. And he hated how alone he felt in this moment. With a small sigh, he pulled out the dildo, not bothering to inflate the knot.

            His breath was deep and hoarse. The walls seemed to close in on him. He got to his feet and began rummaging through the box once more. The others in the box seemed equally unappealing and useless. He shoved the box back in the corner and rose to his feet.

            Phil yelped as his head hit the bar above him. His dove-gray suit fell from its hanger, crumpling to the ground. Peaking out of its breast pocket was a small, laminated card. Phil’s eyes zoned in on it. He reached forward, mind blank save for the insurmountable need and vulnerability.

            He paced and paced, eyes running over the number. His insides squirmed with guilt. He couldn’t do it. It wouldn’t be fair to Clint, he thought.

            But soon his thoughts dissolved and the phone was in his hand, his finger running over the numbers. A small, cordial voice was on the other line. He quickly ascertained that Phil was in heat and that they would send over an Alpha immediately.

            The dial tone rang throughout the room when the operator hung up. A sick combination of relief and dread flooded his system. He ran his hands over his face. He looked to Clint’s duffel bag.

“I’m sorry,” he groaned.

            He pulled on his bathrobe and waited in the living room, unable to keep still. His limbs trembled and he squirmed in his seat, unable to find relief. The edges of his vision blurred and he viewed his surroundings through a dark tunnel of need.

            He nearly jumped out of his skin when the buzzer rang. Phil slammed his palm on the switch.

            An Alpha was approaching—one for him—and he could feel it in his bones. He wiped his forehead on his sleeve and waited near the door.

            His heart beat out of his chest as he eyed the photo on the mantle. Clint was shoving a wad of cotton candy in Phil’s face while the lights of a ferris wheel arced in the background. He wiped his eyes and turned away from the photo.

            A moment later, someone knocked on the door with a heavy hand. Phil clenched his teeth and approached the door. Through the peephole, Phil eyed a man with broad shoulders and the light dusting of a beard. His air was unmistakably predatory.

            He opened the door and immediately the Alpha’s nostrils flared, taking in Phil’s scent. “Looks like I got here just in time.”

            The Alpha didn’t ask to come in. Instead, he sidestepped Phil, meaty hands stuffed deep in his pockets as he surveyed the interior. “Nice digs,” he murmured.

            Phil was seething already, but he could neither ignore nor deny his large presence and the blood rushing to his cock.

            The Alpha sat on the couch, legs spread wide and hand beckoning. Phil stood opposite of him, keeping his robe gathered around his rear. He felt the terrycloth moisten under his fingers.

            “They sent me to take care of you,” he said simply. “I’m Alan.”

            “I know. I called.”

            Alan sniffed around. “You’re bonding aren’t you? Where’s your Alpha?”

            “That’s none of your concern,” Phil managed through his haze.

            Alan shrugged in compliance and stood. He merely stripped his shirt and made his way to the bedroom. Phil’s grip tightened, but his instincts had taken hold and his feet shuffled behind him.

            He was already spread out on the bed. His eye caught Phil’s red dildo, which lay discarded in the corner and he chuckled dismissively.

            Phil burned and not only because of the heat. Alan’s smile had a petulant curl and his limbs were constantly spread, taking up every last inch of Phil’s New York apartment. His gray eyes were penetrating and constantly appraising, becoming more keen as Phil disrobed. In spite of this, Phil knew Alan liked what he saw; carnivorous fire sparked behind Alan’s eyes, as if eyeing an easy meal. His pants and underwear had been discarded, his throbbing cock exposed and ready.

            Phil tentatively sat on the bed next to him, and the dance began. Alan was on his knees, his hands kneading Phil’s shoulders and his breath hot against his back. Alan inhaled deeply.

            “Late bloomer, huh?” he said.

            Phil didn’t dignify him with an answer.

            “Come on, loosen up a little. You’re too tense.”

            Phil turned to him. “Let’s just get this over with.”

            Alan snarled and pulled Phil down on the mattress. In one smooth arc, he swung his leg over Phil’s waist and straddled him. His shaggy brown hair hung in his face like a veil.

            Alan dipped down with an open mouth, but Phil turned away. Alan snarled in frustration.

            He felt his firm grip on his jawline. Phil’s face was burning hot. Alan lowered his mouth again and gnawed at his jugular. Phil’s hips jutted up, rutting against Alan’s hard length out of shameful impulse. He made his way down Phil’s neck and to his collarbone. He bared his teeth, aiming for the swelling gland.

            Phil’s left hand shot up, grasping Alan by the throat. “Not there. That’s not for you.”

            Alan didn’t so much grin as bared his teeth. “Feisty omega, huh? I like that.”

            Phil’s eyes pierced his. He released his grip on Alan’s throat. Against every burning urge in his system, Phil pushed the Alpha off of him, but this served only to inspire Alan’s efforts.

            He was on all fours, eyes wide and tongue hanging out. He was ready to pounce. “You smell so good,” he growled.

            He was about to stand when Alan pounced. He gripped Phil’s shoulders, making no effort to avoid the gland, and wrenched him backward, knocking the wind from Phil’s lungs.

            Phil struggled beneath his weight.

            “Just relax, man,” Alan grunted. He lowered his mouth again. His tongue swept across the gland and Phil was both entranced and repulsed.

            “See? That’s right…I’m your Alpha now,” Alan whispered.

            Slowly, he felt him pierce the skin above the gland. Phil grunted and thrust his weight forward, sending the Alpha tumbling off the mattress. Phil’s muscles were rigid, his stance wide.

            “Get out,” Phil growled.

            Alan was on his feet in a flash, his eyes filled with playful fight. “That’s how it’s gonna be?” he asked. “Fuckin’ crazy omegas,” he added under his breath.

            “I will not repeat myself.”

            Alan licked his lips and stepped forward. “Come on, listen to yourself. You’re not thinking straight, man.” He took another step. Phil’s body tensed. His eyes ran over Alan’s capable frame, his muscular soldiers and arms and bulging thighs. Phil shook his head.

            “Now just lie back and accept what you’re being offered,” Alan said.

            A still moment passed. Phil’s head was still swimming, becoming more and more disoriented. Alan pounced forward, pinning Phil down by the wrists.

            “Now you’re gonna get what you asked for, whether you like it or not.” Alan squeezed Phil’s wrists as he lowered himself once more.

            Phil whimpered under his obtrusive presence—his musk, the long, veiling hair, his strong hands.

            “Clint,” he murmured.

            “You can call me ‘Clint,’ if you need to,” Alan chuckled. He leaned forward and bit down on the gland. Phil cried out. Need surged through his system, followed by spiking regret and humiliation. He had been marked, but it wasn’t Clint swimming through his bloodstream.

            Phil’s heart raced. He squinted in the low light, his hormones attempting to reconcile the Alpha before him and the one they more intimately knew. At his rear he could feel Alan’s cock sliding up and down his crevice.

            “No,” Phil said through clenched teeth.

            “Just relax,” Alan commanded, “You’re making too big a deal outta this.”

            Alan seemed to be taunting him. His cock ran over Phil’s hole, sending strange shivers through Phil’s confused system. He chuckled as he saw Phil struggle beneath him, simultaneously entranced and unwilling.

            Phil summoned the last of his strength, gathered the last of his clear senses and slammed his skull against Alan’s.

            Alan reeled back, clutching his bleeding forehead, teeth bared and angry. Phil crouched on the bed, arms raised.

            “I called you, I set the boundaries.” Phil swung forward, catching Alan in the jaw. “And you just crossed one.”

            Alan spat blood onto Phil’s gray carpet. He whipped a fist forward. Phil caught in his right hand. He rolled off the bed, Alan’s wrist firmly in hand, and twisted his arm behind his back.

            “Get out,” Phil snarled.

            He loosened his grip and Alan spun around. His face was flushed and angry, but he backed down, realizing that he was obviously out of his league. He gathered his clothes, face twisted in a confused, defeated sneer.

            Phil still shivered as he watched Alan dress, but he did not crumble beneath the weight of his heat.

            Alan wiped his mouth and spat again on his way out, leaving an ugly, red stain on the carpet. “Have fun with your toys.” He slammed the door behind him. Phil sprang toward it and locked it against every seething instinct in his body.

            He rested his head on the door and he punched the wood, eyes burning.

            His bonding gland throbbed and he rubbed it, trying to wipe away the mark of Alan’s teeth. His shoulder throbbed and bled. Phil turned around, his back against the door, desperate and exhausted. A low whine escaped his throat as he slid down.

            He brought his knees to his chest, massaging the gland, but to no avail. Another Alpha was in his bloodstream, lurking and unwelcome.

 

\+ + + 

 

            Natasha felt the buzzing of her phone in her clutch, which sat in her lap beneath a cream, cloth napkin. Phil’s number was displayed on the screen.

            “I’m sorry gentlemen, you will have to excuse me,” Natasha said.

            “Don’t dally too long, Ms. Rutherford! We wait on pins and needles for your verdict on the panna cotta!” her graying companions called after her.

            She weaved through the crowded restaurant swiftly, sliding the dial once she reached the small balcony.

            “Phil?”

            The first thing she heard was roughly drawn breaths. “Phil, what’s wrong?”

            “Having an unexpected heat,” Phil gasped out.

            Her tendons tensed. “Did you call a service? Is someone coming over to help you?”

            “N-no, I just…I can’t be alone right now. Can I ask you to come over?” Phil gasped out. He was clearly struggling and already Natasha was running through the possibilities. It could be that there weren’t enough Alphas—every service was periodically overbooked—or perhaps the Alpha was running late and Phil was going out of his mind from the heat. Her senses told her that something else was amiss.

            “Of course, Phil. I’m on my way now. I’m getting a cab.”

            She strode over to her table, where the desert writers for several prominent magazines waited for her.

            “It looks like I’ll have to take this to go,” Natasha said to the group. “A good friend of mine requires my presence.”

            “But the panna cotta…”

            She took up her fork and scooped up a mouthful. “A bit dry,” she said plainly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

            She swept her long dress behind her, grabbed her light trench coat from the coat check and motioned for a cab in one fluid stroke.

            She stopped at the corner near Phil’s Midtown apartment and made a pit stop at the CVS. Quickly, she swept down the aisles in her luxurious gown, grabbing a box of protein bars and a handful of soothing gels specifically engineered for omegas sensitive regions, as well as any snack foods that could easily be offered through a crack in the door.

            Then she hurried over, passing over the threshold and greeting the doorman, a fellow SHIELD agent.

            She dashed down the hall, bulging CVS bags in hand and knocked at Phil’s door. She looked down, spotting a group reddish brown spots on his doormat. She pounded on the door with the side of her fist.

“Phil? It’s Nat. Open up.”

            Behind the door, the padlock clicked and the titanium chain rustled against the wood. The door opened a crack and Phil’s scent wafted out and hit her like a brick wall. He was drenched in sweat, but dressed in an undershirt and boxers now.

            He blinked a few times. He stuck his head out of the door, glancing down both ends of the hall before he let her in.

            The living room was a mess. The coffee table had been cast aside. A mirror hung shattered on the wall and the bookcase was overturned. Everything smelled of Phil’s heat, but hanging beneath it was the odor an unfamiliar Alpha. Natasha sat next to the Phil on the couch, handing him one of the bags, which he tore into, grabbing the gels first. She spotted another red smear on the gray carpet.

            He shoved the landline phone, tablet and his SHIELD cellphone into her hands.

            “Just…keep these away from me,” Phil said through clenched teeth. He stood and left for the bedroom.

 

\+ + + 

 

            The sound of Phil’s thwarted grunting and whimpers stretched into the early morning hours. Natasha had changed into a discarded set of sweatpants and t-shirt—probably Clint’s. She sat leaning against the bedroom door, slipping protein bars underneath periodically as she read.  

            Warm air wafted through the open windows, slowly dismissing the Alpha’s scent, whoever they were. Mid-morning, after Natasha had showered and cleaned the living room, Phil darted out. He went immediately for the shower, and Natasha waited patiently for him to finish.

            He was in there for a long time.

            She had dozed off when the loud click of the bathroom door alerted her. A cloud of steam floated out of the bathroom and Phil emerged, clean but clearly troubled.

            She sat legs crossed and watched him sit.

            “Hey, Coulson,” she said. She thought to reach out, but decided against it. Something told her that he didn’t want to be touched.

            His eyes were fixed on the coffee table.

            “Thank you, Natasha,” he said quietly. He ran his hands over his face. “Sorry if I interrupted your night…but, it was good to have someone here.”

            She shifted. “I wasn’t the only one here, was I?”

            He took a deep breath through his nose. The Alpha’s scent was waning, but still floating underneath everything, like a current.

            “I called a service,” Phil said. He reached up with his right hand and rubbed the still throbbing gland at the crook of his neck. His eyes were dark, cast to the side. “They sent an Alpha over. Alan.”

            Her eyes widened. “What did he do?”

            His fingers hooked his t-shirt’s neckline and he gingerly tugged, revealing the swollen gland. Teeth marks burned on his skin, angry and red.

            “Told him to leave it alone. I had to force him out,” Phil said.

            “He tried to initiate a bond?”

            “I didn’t stop to ask,” Phil said.

            They paused. Natasha for once was at a loss for words. Phil pinched the bridge of his nose. “I was weak.”

            She grabbed his wrists, forcing his hand down. His eyes were red and dewy.

            “You were asking for help. This isn’t your fault.”

            “What am I going to tell Clint? Our bond hasn’t solidified, what if Alan—”

            “Don’t talk like that, Phil. You didn’t let him stay. You didn’t give in, that’s what matters,” Natasha said, her grip tightening.

            They sat again in quiet, but Natasha could tell that Phil’s thoughts were steadily churning, exploring every possibility, every potential loss, what Clint would say if their bond were interrupted.

            For now, she was only able to offer companionship.

            Phil still had another full day’s worth of heat-leave. He gathered his courage and called the hotline, reporting Alan’s actions. The operator assured him that he would be reprimanded heavily and possibly terminated.

            His neck was still sore, but it was a comfort nonetheless.

 

\+ + + 

            Dr. Harvey clicked off her small flashlight and removed her medical mask.

            “Is it still tender? Does it hurt when I press like this?” She began to dig in with her thumb. Phil winced.

            “Yes. It’s been like that since last night, when I called the Alpha over.”

            “That’s a good sign, then. That means that your body is looking for more input.”

            Dr. Harvey looked him in the eye. “I’m sorry for what happened, Phil. There’s a strict screening process for the Alphas they hire. We have worked with Tranquil Nights for so many years…This shouldn’t have happened.”

            “I only care about solutions now. What’s going to happen when my Alpha returns?”

            “There’s still a chance that Alan’s forced bond initiation did not take—the fact that your gland is still tender is a good sign. It means your hormones haven’t settled. There’s still a chance.”

            “And if they have?” Phil’s heart beat at a steady, unyielding pace.

            “Interrupted bonds can be difficult to re-initiate,” Dr. Harvey said, sitting across from Phil. Her eyes didn’t quite meet his. “As we get older, the difficulty increases. And your irregular heats complicate matters further.”

            Phil fell silent. His hands were clasped in his lap and he was suddenly aware of the brisk chill ceaselessly borne in by the central air. He tried not to imagine Clint’s face when he broke the news—his gray eyes cast to the side nonchalantly and the grim purse of his lips. He has had enough people fail him; Phil would sooner die than be added to that list.

            He felt a warm touch on his knee. Dr. Harvey’s eyes were deep and earnest. “But if I learned anything from SHIELD’s research it’s this: nature’s rules are more like guidelines.”

 

\+ + + 

 

            When Phil sensed more heats coming on, he removed the battery from his phone, unplugged the wireless router and disconnected the rarely used landline. He knew he would be tempted to call again and having another step in the process would give him valuable time to think. Phil’s next two bouts were near intolerable.

            Added to the looming threat of unexpected misery were constant updates about Alan Vicks’ status at Tranquil Nights. Phil was expected to testify against him during his hearing and their shockingly disorganized bureaucracy slowed things to a meager crawl.

            Weeks later, however, Phil at last had reason to be glad. Clint was finally coming home. He had fresh groceries in the fridge and a simple, yet hearty menu prepared. He polished his maroon brogues, ironed his slacks and steamed his jacket, then went to the bathroom to give himself a shave and a trim.

            He was clean at last. He breathed deeply through his nose as his hand crept along his collarbone. He winced as his fingertips brushed across the gland, which was still tender to the touch. Though Dr. Harvey found that unusual—especially after so much time had passed—she still found it encouraging, in light of Alan’s abuses.

            He left the bathroom and grabbed his cell, remembering that the Tranquil Nights had left a message for early that morning. It was likely to be another inconsequential update on Alan’s pending hearing, one that may as well have gone unreported.

            Still, his pulse crept upwards as he waited for the voicemail to reach their message.

            A cordial voice greeted him.

            “Hello Mr. Coulson. I am calling on behalf of Tranquil Nights about your recent case opened against our former employee Alan Vicks,” she paused. “We are at last entering the final stages of commencing his hearing. However, our efforts to locate or contact Mr. Vicks have been unsuccessful. As you know, on pain of criminal charges, he was confined to his home. We will notify you as soon as he is located. Have a good day Mr. Coulson.”

            Phil hung up. He sighed. “Dammit.”

            His senses swayed when he heard the news. He had hoped to put his all behind him—not only for his sake, but for Clint’s as well. He did not need another hiccup, but he had no time to dwell on it. He checked his watch. Clint was due back in an hour and a half.

            He dressed quickly, his rough nerves undoing his careful grooming.

            Throughout his drive to SHIELD’s headquarters, his pulse rose from anxiety and excitement in equal heavy measures. Today was supposed to be a happy reunion, but instead he dreaded to tell Clint the news. He cracked his neck.

 

\+ + + 

 

            He watched the black trucks pull into SHIELD’s garage complex from his office window, hands tucked behind his back. They would have to go to the medical ward as soon as Clint landed, and he was loath to tell his no doubt exhausted Alpha of the sordid details.

            Fifteen minutes later, his office door burst open. Phil scented the air. He smelled nothing.

            He heard a duffel bag drop onto the linoleum behind him. “Phil,” he heard Clint say, exhaustion doing little to hinder his excitement.

            Phil turned to him, a soft, sad smile spreading on his face. Clint’s hair was sticking up from the plane ride. His skin was pallid, his cheeks bereft of their healthy flush. His shoulders were hunched and small. Stubble grew thick on his cheeks and chin.

            Despite his ragged appearance, Phil tucked himself into his arms, burying his face in his Alpha’s shoulder, clinging tightly.

            “I’ve missed you,” he said, voice cracking.

            Heavy hands fell on Phil’s back. “You too.”

            They kissed and parted, Phil’s hands firmly planted on Clint’s shoulders. He was reminded of older days.

            “You took them, didn’t you,” Phil said. “The suppressants.”

            Clint cast his eyes to the floor then back to Phil, his gaze filled with worry and repentance. “Kinda became necessary. Sorry.”

            Phil made a meager attempt to flatten Clint’s hair. “No, no, I’m not mad. That’s what they were there for.” Phil went about clearing off the couch. Clint watched him carefully. He was treading lightly and a slight air of bitterness accompanied his omega’s scent. “All I care about is that you came back in one piece.”

            “Told you it would be a piece of cake,” Clint said, smile returning.

            Slowly Clint approached Phil, taking his face into his calloused hands. Phil winced at the touch. Clint’s brow furrowed. His nostrils flared.

 “Something went down,” Clint said darkly. “Who hurt you? What happened?”

            For a small instant, Phil was relieved at Clint’s protectiveness, a small sign that their bond yet persisted, but the elation quickly vanished in light of the broader circumstances. He sighed and motioned for Clint to follow.

 

\+ + + 

 

            The front of Clint’s torn jeans were balled up in his fists. His mouth was a hard, determined line.

            “Where is he?” he growled.

            “Tranquil Nights has lost track of him. The NYPD have an officer on the case, but he hasn’t come up with any leads yet,” Phil reported. His hand covered Clint’s and he looked up at Dr. Harvey. “What do you suggest we do in the meantime?”

            She flipped through another chart. “In about one week, Barton’s suppressants should be mostly worn off. I’m assuming Alan Vicks will still be at large at that time.”

            “I’ll put in a heat-leave form,” Phil said.

            “Of course,” Dr. Harvey said. “I’ll go get you a copy.” She left the room.

            Clint’s heavy breathing still filled the room. Phil sat next to him on the bench, taking Clint’s hand in his. They were silent, both quietly moldering in their guilt.

            “I’m sorry,” Phil said at last, once the stretch of silence had become crushing and unending. He rubbed at his collarbone. “I just—I just couldn’t bear it with you gone.”

            Clint said nothing. Instead he shifted in his seat, wrapping his arms around Phil, rocking silently.

            “It’s not your fault,” his grip tightened. “It’s his.”

            Dr. Harvey circled around her desk and was beginning to run her fingers through her file when a familiar face stopped in.

            “Romanov? Long time no see,” Dr. Harvey said.

            Natasha stepped up to the edge of her desk. She was always a mystery to Dr. Harvey. She was never able to place what she was exactly. Though the surgical procedure that freed omegas from their heats was recently legalized, Dr. Harvey knew that Natasha had had something akin to it performed long ago. She wondered if it was voluntary.

            “Can I help you?” Harvey asked. “I’m in the middle of a consultation.”

            “Vicks. He’s AWOL isn’t he?” Natasha stated more than asked.

            Dr. Harvey knew that there was no point in evading Natasha’s questions. She would get the information she wanted through trickery if not through bluntness.

            “He is. I can’t imagine what Coulson is going through right now. Interrupted bonds are difficult to re-initiate, especially at his age.”

            “What if we got Clint and Vicks in the same room?”

            “You mean an Alpha duel?”

            Natasha nodded.

            “Vicks would have to be willing. Something tells me that he isn’t the chivalrous type.”

            Natasha smiled softly. “I can be very convincing.”

            Dr. Harvey knew she meant business. “I’ll run the idea by them.” She knew Phil wouldn't go for it.

 

 

\+ + + 

 

            They were both quiet over dinner. Phil’s elaborate dinner plans fell to the wayside and they ended up ordering a pizza. Normally, Phil would have ordered two, but Clint’s appetite was still stunted by the suppressants.

            Dr. Harvey had spoken with them about potential solutions in case the bond was truly interrupted. The last she mentioned was an Alpha contest. Though they were legal, they were uncommon in contemporary society. Phil struck down the idea as barbaric.

            The whole ordeal was ridiculous. He couldn’t blame Clint for avoiding his gaze.

            Phil pulled the covers up high so the edges brushed against his bottom lip. He knew Clint was in the bathroom brushing his teeth, but his primordial senses told him no one was there. He prayed that it was only because of the suppressants.

            He felt the bed sink next to him. He looked over. Clint curled up in the sheets. He looked at Phil for a long time before speaking.

            “I need to tell you something too,” he murmured.

            “What is it?”

            He paused, gathering his thoughts. It was so unlike his spontaneous self; Clint never had qualms about opening his mouth, even if keeping quiet were more advisable. This worried Phil, so he reached out beneath the covers and stroked Clint’s arm.

            “There was an omega on the field with us. They hit him with something, made him go into heat,” Clint said. “And…I responded.”

            “Responded how?”

            “Got aroused, jeez. I tried thinking of you, Phil. And it worked but not for long. He was in a real bad place and they were asking for an Alpha to help him out—so he wouldn’t lose his damn mind…and I almost said yes.” He pulled away. “I almost said yes, Phil.”

            Phil scanned him. His face was stone cold. He was putting up a brave front. Clint kept his distance in their expansive bed. It was up to Phil to close the gap. He stroked his cheek with his thumb and moved to cradle Clint’s face in his palm.

            “And you were all the way over here and hurting and I couldn’t help you. Couldn’t even send a text,” Clint chuckled bitterly. “And I was thinking of another omega.”

            “You couldn’t help it, Clint,” Phil interjected. “You still aren't used to handling omegas as an Alpha. You were on those damn suppressants for so long. It's not your fault.”

            “I’m sorry, Phil, you don't have to justify it to me.”

            “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, Clint,” Phil said. He squeezed Clint's hand. "I mean it."

            Clint surged forward, clutching Phil’s hand. He ran his tongue over Phil’s and Phil complied with his demands.

            “What’d I do to deserve you? Seems like a fluke more’n anything else,” Clint murmured.

           

\+ + + 

 

            Alan woke with a pounding head. He shifted and a chorus of rustling cans thundered through his ear canals. He flipped over and checked the nightstand. It was almost time to check out and skip town.

            He pulled on his jeans. A heavily creased slip of paper flitted to the floor in a downward spiral. He inspected it. His termination notice was written in bold, thick letters. He crumpled it up and tossed it away. It settled in the waste bin next to his house-arrest order. It didn’t stop him from taking two more calls.

            He pulled his t-shirt over his broad form and downed a stale beer. Then he went to the bathroom. He drank greedily from the flimsy plastic cup in the dark. He squinted his eyes shut as he flipped on the light and let his irises adjust behind his tender eyelids.

            Leaning in close to the mirror, Alan cursed under his breath. Though the bruises on his cheeks had long vanished, the ones on his pride had yet to fade. What he would do to teach that omega a lesson—to make him learn his place.

            He spat in the sink and was gathering his things when a brisk knock sounded at the door.

            “Housecleaning,” he heard the maid call.

            Alan sniffed. He couldn’t place the scent.

            He crept toward the door and looked through the peephole. Outside on the balcony was a woman with deep red hair. Her winged eyeliner was perfectly symmetrical. He looked lower. The uniform hugged her curves tightly, revealing a perfectly portioned torso and hips.

            Hell, even if she weren’t an omega, he would still plow her.

            He let the door swing open as he returned to gather his things.

            “Come on in, I’m just getting ready to go,” he said as cordially as his hangover would allow.

            For a moment the intense scrutiny of her gaze fell on him like an avalanche, but then a dazed softness returned to her, as if readying herself for the doldrums of her menial labors.

            “Okay hon,” she said with a distinct midwestern drawl. “Don’t rush if ya don’t have to.” She wheeled her sizeable cart into the cramped room.

            After stuffing his bag hastily, he turned to lay on the charm. The door slammed shut and he was face-to-face with an unfamiliar, metallic device held firmly in the maid’s grasp.

            Before Alan could respond, two wires shot from the device. A startling jolt ran through them and his vision clouded over. He collapsed into the dirty brown carpet.

            He wasn’t sure how long he was out cold for. Around him, he could vaguely make out swift movement, but he could do nothing but lay there in his muddled dark.

            Then his eyes suddenly shot open. He was tied to the maid’s cart. The thing was heavy and no matter how hard he rocked back and forth, he could not make it budge.

            The maid stood above him, hair and make-up still neat and tidy. His eyes darted about. The room was immaculate, as if no one had stayed there in days.

            “The fuck are you doing?” Alan snarled.

            “I could ask you the same question, Mr. Vicks,” the red-haired woman responded plainly and in a different accent, her arms crossed and the toe of her white sneaker tapping steadily.

            “How the hell do you know my name?”

            She crouched down. In her right hand he spotted the device. He made another lunge, but, in his deleterious state, he only managed to pull a muscle in his shoulder.

            “That’s not important,” she said, idly letting the device hang in her loose grip. “Here's what's going to happen: I am going to put you in this little cart here and we are going back to Manhattan.”

            “Why should I go anywhere with you?” Alan said. He kicked with his heavy boots, but the woman swiftly bat his efforts to the side.

           “Because your ma didn’t teach ya good manners, hon,” the woman said with the midwestern drawl. She stood and held out her arm. The wires shot forward again.

 

\+ + +

 

            They were entangled when their phone rang. Phil checked the clock. It was morning. He quickly pulled on a pair of sweatpants to answer the landline. Only a few people knew the number.

            “Coulson speaking,” he croaked.

            “Good morning, Phil. Did you sleep well?” Natasha asked. Phil didn’t want to go over the details. Phil had another start of a heat and Clint was unable to relieve him. Luckily, it wasn’t a real heat, just a brief start, if anything. He dreaded his scheduled heat.

Phil was put on edge. She never called this number out of the blue. She had something up her sleeve.     

            “What is it, Natasha?”

            He heard the glass shatter on the other line. “Natasha!” Phil barked into the phone.

            “Everything is under control, Phil,” she assuaged him. “But you and Clint might want to get here quick. She hung up.

            In short order Clint and Phil were dressed and in the car. He was still technically on heat-leave, but the man at the front desk said nothing as they both moved through the security checkpoint.

            Natasha met them in the main hall. “Follow me.”

            “What is this about?” Clint yawned.

            She led them to SHIELD’s holding cells. As they swiped their cards through the reader, a familiar, sour scent flooded Phil’s system.

            Natasha led them down the medium security wing. The scent grew stronger as they approached the end of the line. Phil choked when he saw him. Alan’s hair was ragged and tangle—more animal than human. He lounged around as he always did, arms and legs spread wide, imposing himself on as much space as possible. Behind the inches of acrylic, Alan’s teeth were bared in a toxic, playful grin.

            “Hey, buddy,” his voice echoed inside. Though the soundproof array was in place, Phil could still sense the taunting jilt in his tone.

            In an instant, Clint’s hands were planted on the acrylic. “You,” he snarled.

            Dr. Harvey ran to intercept him and explain. “Good you’re both here.”

            “Where did you find him?” Phil asked. Natasha simply raised her hand. “Ok, why haven’t you turned him in, Natasha? He’s a wanted man.”

            “I brought him here for you,” Natasha said, eyes darting between Alan and Clint, who stood eyeing each other. “More specifically, for Clint.”

            Clint’s hand was on his shoulder. His stubble brushed against Phil’s ear. “This him?” Phil nodded, eyes cast to the corner.

            “I wanted to leave the decision to you two,” Dr. Harvey started. “We can arrange a bout between Clint and Alan. It may reverse the untoward effects of his interference.”

            Phil glared at Alan behind the acrylic. He knew he wouldn’t agree to it. He’s observed several Alpha duels throughout his life; if the desire isn’t there, then theirs wouldn’t take properly. Instead, he approached the barrier, placing his hand on Clint’s shoulder.

            "Let me,” Phil said simply.

            He was inspired by the anger in Clint’s gaze. His eyes scanned Phil’s face and he nodded silently. A fire was lit beneath him.

            “But, Coulson,” Dr. Harvey said. Phil stayed her with a cementing gaze.

            “I won't repeat myself.”

            Natasha’s hand flitted across the control panel and the cell door swung open. Alan eyed all of them cautiously. He backed into the corner as Phil entered. The door hissed shut behind them. Clint eyed them like a hawk.

            “Back for another round?” Alan asked. He looked toward Clint. “That’s your Alpha, I assume. A bit scrawny, ain’t he?”

            “If I remember correctly, you’re quick to back down. Muscles and all.”

            Alan tied his hair in a messy ponytail. He scented the air. “Smells like I stuck to you, regardless. Now every time he’s pluggin’ you,” Alan nodded toward Clint, “you’re gonna be thinking of me. What do you think about that?”

            Phil tensed. An inkiness surged within him, but he quieted it through sheer willpower. Alan chuckled.

            “So now what? You want me and him to fight over you? Pathetic.”

            “Shut your mouth and listen to me, Alan,” Phil spat. “I’ve been waiting all of my life for an Alpha half as good as he is. If you think for one second that you can supplant him, then you’re not only mistaken, but horribly self-deluded.”

            Alan merely shrugged, but Phil could tell barbs of ire slid beneath his skin. “Did you tell him that your body was beggin’ for it? That it took everything you had to push me out the door?” Before Alan could inhale, Phil was on him, slamming him into the concrete wall.

            “We’re not living in the stone age anymore. If you’re of the mind that you can just muck around wherever you please, then you belong behind bars. Do not tempt me to put you there for good, Vicks.”

            Alan growled beneath his grip, but he relented. Phil backed off, wiping the small smear of blood off of his cuff.

            “You don’t deserve to fight,” Phil said. "I won't give you the chance to prove yourself. You've done enough."

            Alan shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned against the wall. “Get out of my face, omega.”

            Phil met Natasha’s eyes and he nodded. The door hissed open once more and Phil took his leave, hands clutched into trembling fists at his side. Clint followed him out of the cellblock after casting Vicks one last acidic glare.

            Phil strode out of the building, in need of fresh air. He stood on the street corner, breathing deeply through his nose, eyes closed, letting Alan seep out of his system.

            He sensed Clint beside him.

            “I ever tell you you scare the crap out of me?” Clint said. Phil opened his eyes. Clint had a small grin on his face.

            “I get that a lot,” Phil said. He felt Clint’s skin on his and his pulse quickened and his vision blurred at the edges. He hastily dug in his pocket for his keys and shoved them into Clint’s palm. “Can you drive?”

            A mischievous smirk played across his lips. “Sure can.”

 

\+ + + 

 

            Natasha watched silently as Alan was loaded into the police car, cuffs tight around his wrists. She couldn't help but grin when his head hit the car frame as he stepped into the vehicle.

            “Do you think that did the trick?” she asked Dr. Harvey. “Wasn't much an Alpha fight. I'm not sure what that was."/p>

            “Our biology is full of exceptions,” she offered as explanation. "Only time will tell."

            Natasha only hummed pensively in response.

 

\+ + + 

 

            Their apartment door slammed behind them. Clint’s teeth clicked against Phil’s as they drank of one another deeply. Phil’s frantic hands tugged clumsily at the bottom of Clint’s shirt and soon it was discarded by the door by their shoes. They felt free and unburdened and ready.

            Phil’s skin was slick with sweat. Clint stripped him of his jacket and hung it hurriedly in the closet. He was less careful with Phil’s slacks. After wrenching the belt from the loops, he undid the button and hook and let it pool around his ankle.

            He took Phil’s cock in hand, letting the warm girth slide in his grip. Phil nuzzled into Clint’s shoulders, enjoying his Alpha’s musky scent, relieved that his mind was centered only on him.

            Clint murmured soft praises as Phil bucked into his hand. Phil had never plunged into heat this quickly before. Were it not for the scents and hormones bombarding his senses, Clint would be worried. Instead, he gazed deep into Phil’s eyes. Behind his irises lurked tenacious needs, ones that Clint was happy to sate.

            Phil pushed Clint into the bedroom. Clint stumbled and fell back on the bed, smiling as Phil crawled over him, licking and clawing and biting. Phil went to work on Clint’s fly. Clint nuzzled the top of his head, breathing in his scent.

            After a couple tries, Phil got the button-fly undone and he greedily yanked down Clint’s jeans, driven by primal need. He kicked off his underwear, which were already saturated with Phil’s slick.

            Clint’s cock bobbed in his face and Phil wolfed it down, graceless and animalistic. He groaned as Phil worked the head with his tongue. Phil looked up at him. His eyes were glazed over.

            Clint sat up, still enjoying his omega’s hot mouth. He reached down between Phil’s cheeks, his fingers dipping in ever so slightly. Phil whimpered audibly as Clint’s fingertips grazed his hole.

            “What do you need?” Clint asked, thoughts cloudy and smoldering.

            “I need you,” Phil grunted as he rocked back onto Clint’s fingers and he gasped, overwhelmed by the sensation.

            Clint leaned over further, lifting Phil by the haunches onto the bed. Phil greedily kissed him again as he continued to bob up and down on his fingers.

            “You’re all nice and wet for me, eh?” Clint teased. “Gotta put that slick to use. How’s that sound?”

            Phil nodded jerkily as he continued to moan.

            Clint’s mouth moved from Phil’s mouth to his jaw then his collarbone. The gland had become to swell and redden. Clint looked up into Phil’s eyes. Phil nodded and Clint gave it an experimental lick.

            Phil’s body tensed. Clint stopped immediately, pulling back to assess the situation.

            “Are you okay? You need me to stop?”

            Phil shook his head. “More. Please.”

            Clint slowly made his way to the precious lump of flesh once more, gently gnawing at it as Phil whimpered and moaned beneath his touch.

            Clint bat Phil’s hole with the tip of his cock. Phil leaned back, taking the shaft in hand. He gave it three strokes and began to straddle Clint.

            Clint leaned back, putting his hands behind his head as Phil lowered himself slowly onto his cock.

            Phil felt full and warm. He rose on his knees and sank back down, enjoying the feeling of his Alpha’s cock as it slid in and out.

            Clint grunted beneath him as Phil picked up the pace. Clint reached down and stroked Phil’s hard cock, letting the sensations overtake him.

            Phil rose up again. His hands slid down Clint’s chest. He began tweaking the hard peaks of his nipples as Clint took the reins, thrusting up into Phil’s hole.

            “Oh god,” Phil groaned. Wet smacking filled the room as Clint picked up the pace.

            “I’m close. God, I’m close,” Phil murmured through clouds of heat and desire. He felt as if they would melt into an oozing puddle, warm and sated and one with Clint.

            Clint jerked him off roughly as he plunged into Phil. He stretched his arms out and Phil collapsed between them. Clint held him tight as he felt his climax approach.

            “You ready?” he grunted. Clint left a trail of soft kisses as he sought out the gland at Phil’s collarbone.

            He felt Phil nod mindlessly as he finished inside him. Phil felt the wonderful spurts fill his hole. Clint bit down hard.

            Pain and pleasure both shot through him as he let all of his weight float down and envelop Clint. Clint continued gnawing as Phil worked through the last of his lengthy orgasm. He shuddered and started, Clint’s softening cock still working him from behind.

            Then the knot began to fill, stretching Phil as the rolled onto their sides, entangled so that they lay face to face.

            Clint ran his hand through Phil’s sweat-drenched hair. Phil caught his breath as he felt his hole twitch and stretch around the knot.

            Clint then massaged the gland, cooing and whispering soft reassurances into his ear. Tingling flooded Phil’s side where Clint’s voice entered. He felt as if enveloped by a sonic dream, partially disbelieving the happy circumstances that followed their long toil.

            His logical, professional self made a mental note to extend his heat leave, to ensure that they would not be interrupted again.

 

\+ + + 

 

            The sheets were cool and drying when Phil woke up. It must have been early evening, for the sun lit the room in orange and gold. Clint was still beside him, but his eyes were open and observing. He ran his hand down Phil’s neck and Phil was submerged in warmth.

            “Hey,” Clint whispered.

            “Hi.”

            “That was…that was amazing,” Clint said.

            “Was that it?” Phil asked dreamily. “Was that the bond taking?”

            Clint shrugged, suddenly pensive. “Don’t know. Don’t care.”

            Phil sat up. “What?”

            Clint gave his shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “I mean…I don’t care if we’re officially bonded, Phil. Just as long as I’m with you…I don’t care. Is that weird?”

            Phil shook his head and snuggled closer to Clint. “No. No it isn't. Thank you. So much.”

            “For what?”

            “Just for being here. With me," Phil said, voice wavering.

            "No prob," Clint said.

            Clint ran his hand down Phil’s shoulder. His fingers swept past the gland. No longer was it tender and wanting, but settled and satisfied. Phil smiled, burying himself in the warm bed and his Alpha's arms. In spite of the early hour they slept, spent, exhausted and happy.  

           

           

           

**Author's Note:**

> This has been a long time coming. I hope you all enjoyed the (darker) sequel.
> 
>  
> 
> TAGS: So the rape/non-con plays is mostly in reference to the OMC's biting of Phil's bonding gland, which was a clear break in social etiquette and Phil's boundaries. It is implied that the OMC was planning on violating Phil further, but Phil manages to fight him off.


End file.
